Trapped in the Suitcase
by Treasurer
Summary: It's not murder if it saves a life. Blending in with humanity by day, Jasper's true nature takes shape at night. Who said killing had to be a bad thing? Don't misbehave, Seattle, you just may end up in Jasper's suitcase. There will be darkness, there will be romances, there will be blood. Vampire AU. Sardonic humor. Multiple Jasper pairings. M for violence, language, and sex.
1. Prologue

**Authors note: Hello there, it's been awhile. This will try to be a little bit of an epic. And I truly hope you enjoy the road we're about to take. As said in the summary, this story will have multiple Jasper pairings, but obviously not all at once. I will be posting a new chapter every week to two weeks depending. If you love murder, romance, and down right mystery- you're in for a treat.**

Prologue

The young blonde awoke with a debilitating headache. Her eyelids were heavy and difficult to open, but when they parted she closed them immediately. She tried to lift her arm to block out the blinding light from above, but her arm was secured down.

"What?" The woman's eyes opened again, raising her head as much as she could. Her body was strapped onto a crude steel table. Resting her head back down, unstoppable tears started rolling. She couldn't remember how she had gotten here. Maybe a john had brought her? It wasn't too much of a stretch. She had heard the stories. She tilted her head to the right, anxious to see her surroundings, but she couldn't see past the tears that were blinding her. The woman blinked her eyes until everything came into focus. Hanging on the wall was a switchblade. Her switchblade.

"Oh god," she screamed, "Somebody please! Help me!" Her entire body was quaking with fear as she thought of al the fucked up shit that could happen to her. "Fuck!" The blade gave away the gravity of the situation. She tried to pull at her restraints but was only met with resistance.

"Help! I've been abduc-"The blond shut her mouth with the surprise of a man smiling over her. He was breathtakingly handsome. His shaggy blond hair swept over his high cheekbones, his mouth was full and reminded her of a plum, but his bright red leering eyes let her know this man was not here to save her.

"Hello." His tone was cheerful. He had waited until her fear was as palpable as her blood to introduce himself. It was more fun that way.

"Please don't do this, " she cried. Images of torture flashed through her mind.

"Now, sweetheart," he clucked, "You don't even know what I'm going to do yet." His smile continued to grow wider as he walked around the table to her feet, his face now out of view.

"What are you going to do to me?" She watched her captors fingertips brush against her toes slowly up towards her knees back and forth. His hands were freezing cold, like ice. Back and forth. Back and forth.

"Does it feel good, you know, selling your body? I imagine it could. Knowing that you have something men want so badly they'll pay you for it," he mused, watching his fingers move over her trembling figure. He felt her confusion and fear as if it were his own but he did not let that hurt him, it encouraged him. When she didn't respond, he stopped and walked back toward her face. Silent tears fell one by one down her cheeks, falling onto the table creating two tiny oceans on either side.

He sighed, exasperated by her theatrics. "Well? Does it? It wasn't a rhetorical question."

"Y-yes," she whispered.

"Ahh. But I bet some men weren't expecting to pay the ultimate price." He bent down to her ear and spoke softly, "Their life." His voice was smooth but his cadence did nothing to mask the malice. She knew why she was here and he could sense that too. She jerked her head away from his mouth but said nothing.

He stood back up and grabbed the switchblade she had used to kill countless of her clients off of the wall. He used it to slice her from dainty wrist to elbow. The girl whimpered out a, "Please," as protest.

"You know, Samantha, I'm surprised. Usually people in your predicament start to proclaim their innocence by now. Don't you want to tell me all of those johns hurt you? I actually thought that was the case at first. But, no. Five in one month, and that's only what I saw. All men of wealth."

"Those cheating, bigoted assholes deserved it," Samantha spit.

"I'm sure you think so, problem is, I don't. So, it won't be happening again." He bent down toward her bleeding arm and glided his tongue over her wound, teasing both himself and her about what was inevitable. The thought finally occurred to her that he wasn't human.

"Oh, my god!" She shrieked. "Shit, shit, shit. Oh no, no, no, no. Please."

"Now, now. Don't be so scared," he cooed.

"What are you?" She was panty after her display. He laughed and hovered his face above hers, looking into frightened green eyes. His wild and ecstatic eyes mirrored in her own. Oh, he was thrilled, and she was rightfully scared.

"What am I? I'm a demon in human's skin. A creature of the night...I'm a vampire." His smile opened revealing his white razors of teeth. "And you dear, sweet, murderess Samantha are my next prey." He skimmed his nose down her cheek to her throat and inhaled her fragrance. She smelled like chamomile. He might of moaned.

He felt no remorse as he sank his teeth into her flesh; he relished in the ecstacy of her blood pumping down his throat.

When there was nothing left of her to give he pulled away and stared down at her corpse. She looked innocent in death, but then, most of them do. He closed his eyes and rested his hands upon her shoulders and sighed. Memories of killing paining him fluttered through his mind, but now it was something he enjoyed. It more than fed his hunger, it relaxed him. He felt meaningful. He moved around to her side and gently released the restraints. They weren't necessary to withhold her but it helped with his game. He liked to talk to his prey and drag it out before he drank away their life. He wanted his victims to know that they weren't picked at random. That their death served a true purpose. It was easier if he didn't have to hold them down his self for that.

He easily contorted the bloodless hooker's body, snapping her this way and that to fit into his black leather suitcase. The switchblade was thrown in with her. He glanced around the abandoned room he had made into his own. There were no signs of blood in the room or on himself. He was a clean, efficient hunter. He smoothed away a wrinkle on his gray dress shirt, adjusted his black fitted jeans, and grabbed his suitcase with ease to walk out the door and into the night. Headed toward his car, he admired his surroundings. The street was alive with all walks of life beaming. Unknowing that a vampire was among them.

Most of them needn't worry. If anything, he was keeping them safe from humans like his dear friend Samantha Suitcase sitting passenger. He drove into the heat of Seattle, with nothing but the sweet music of Joy Division telling him to dance. And he did. He head swayed from left to right and his hands thumped rhythmically on the steering wheel. A small smile found it's way onto his face. He was content with himself. Proud even. His fate did not upset him like it did for many years.

He was a vampire. An immortal. He was- his phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. He sighed answering, "Whitlock Investigations. Jasper speaking."


	2. Chapter 1: Where Is My Mind

**Authors Note: Alright, so you had to wait a little longer than two weeks, but I hope it was worth it. I took my sweet time nursing this baby to health. I can't wait to get started on the next one. Let me know how you feel about my Jasper. You'll notice that some of his backstory is not exactly canon. It wouldn't have worked for the way I want my story to go. I hope you enjoy! xoxox**

It had been the longest day of my life. Well, thats the inside joke anyway. I hadn't slept in almost fifty years, hadn't aged. Essentially, my life was and would always be the day that would never end.

I lived alone in a clean, concise apartment in the heart of Seattle. Many of the amenities were useless as I have no reason for a kitchen or even a bed but it kept with my human cover. Add to the fact my need for order and collection, it was comforting to have a place all my own. The few others of my kind that I'd met didn't have one or a want for it. They usually prefer to constantly be on the move, elusive and out of sight until it's time to eat.

I enjoyed my space. My problem was that I also enjoyed people. Don't be fooled, I held no real friendships, human or otherwise. If I were to create meaningful bonds with humans, they'd realize I was different and I'd have to move sooner than planned, or worse kill them. And although I have enjoyed the company of vampires, our differences kept us apart. Every vampire I'd met killed whomever, whenever they wanted. They were confused at my hesitancy to do so. What they failed to understand is my empathetic ability. I didn't notice my prey's emotions, I lived them. The confusion, terror, desperation was mine. Killing them felt like murdering a piece of myself.

I used to try to use my empathy to alter human's emotions. Out of guilt I took away their pain and replaced it with calm fatigue. It still never sat right with me, no matter how superior I might have felt, these people didn't deserve to die. Living in the emotional lives of these humans created a sense in me that I still wasn't so different from them. I lived with this guilt for what seemed like ages, unsure of what to do to assuage it. I lived on the fringes of society, too afraid to leave life behind but uncertain enough of my bloodlust to trust myself around them.

That was until I saw him. A tall muscular man dragging a young girl towards his car. She was screaming and trying her hardest to get a punch in at him. I mulled over what to do. Generally, my kind does not interfere in human matters, but something about the helplessness in the girl reminded me of my victims The terror she exuded overwhelmed me. And as he hit her, it hit me: she didn't have to feel like that, to be in that position at all. I could make sure of it. I glided behind him and hit him as lightly as I could in my excitement, surrendering him unconscious. The poor girl looked toward me in fright but when I gingerly put the man over my shoulder and told her to run, she nodded and acquiesced. I didn't take any time with him past dragging him behind the building, leaving his bloodless body to be found in a dumpster. I felt empowered. I felt like I belonged.

Fifteen years later and I have perfected the art of being me. I no longer leave a body to be found. Cities get scared when body counts start to rise. In the last three years I had lived in Seattle, I had killed and taken the blood of 160 lives. If I left their bodies for the poor city folk to find I would be renowned as the most prolific serial killer in history. And I am not a serial killer. I am a vampire. I don't kill because I feel a simple impulse or will to do so. I kill so that I can live. And this is the only way I have found livable.

I had two people that I considered friends: Peter and Garrett. I met Peter when I first moved here. I was playing a round of pool at a quiet bar alone, and unlike most that got a sense that I should be avoided, his loneliness prompted him to ask me if I'd like my ass kicked in a round. My loneliness accepted his offer. After that we started meeting once a week to play a few rounds of pool, exchanging banter and small talk. Shortly after, he started to bring Garrett along with him. Garrett sensed something wrong with me immediately and wasn't too fond of me at the start. I was not offended, he was right. I am a monster after all. Eventually, he gave up his unmasked hatred for me. Maybe it was because of Peter's love for me or that after a year he could find no reason to logically hate me, but now he just ribbed on me, calling jokes that held no malice. They were alright guys. They were homicide detectives, the irony didn't leave me, but unknowingly they had led me to several of my victims as they divulged cases that had upset them or gone unresolved. They knew I was a private investigator, and they would occasionally ask for my help. I did when I saw fit.

"Take off your sunglasses, you tales from the crypt mother fucker!" Garrett screamed across the bar toward me. I smiled, bemused, and lifted my glasses, resting them atop my head. I wore sunglasses anytime I was out in public. My bright red eyes would alert my surrounding humans that there was something off about me. Wearing them indoors, specifically at night, had a tendency to leave people uncomfortable, but not nearly as bad as it bothered my friend Garrett. I wore brown contacts now when I knew I would be seeing him, but I wore the sunglasses nevertheless, hoping that he would one day give up and stop asking me to take my sunglasses off. They irritated my eyes and clouded my vision. Not to mention I did get a rise out of irritating him in anyway that i could.

"Nice to see you, too, Garrett," I laughed as he rolled his eyes. I tipped back my beer, forcing the liquid to go down. Not drinking in a bar also made humans uncomfortable. So, although alcohol had no effect on me, I drank the beverage in front of my friends in a show of camaraderie. They didn't need to know that it held no taste for me and that I would throw it up later, the act perpetrated my human facade. I walked away from the bar to the pool tables they were standing by.

"Whatever, asshole. I'm ready to kick both of your asses. Let's get this shit storm started." Garrett lightly pushed Peter to the side who did an exaggerated eye roll toward me.

"Sorry," Peter said, "Garrett here is just having a bad day today." He grabbed a pool stick for each of us as I set up our table. Garrett put the first round of coins into the machine that released the balls for us. This was our routine that we had established. It brought all of us some joy. I think that is the main reason I stayed friends with these young men. I could feel their elation and relaxation when they walked into the bar to meet with me. Their sodden moods lifting after every joke or story we shared. In some ways, I genuinely helped their lives. It felt great.

"Oh, yeah," I sneered, "What happened?"

Garrett lit a cigarette, "Let's not talk about it. I'd rather play some cutthroat." He finished his sentence with a jab to the cue ball that set the rest off in motion.

To be honest, winning never mattered to me, I just loved the imagery of the table and the motion between force and objects. Peter didn't much either, but he pretended for Garrett's sake. "He's got it in for the boss," Peter mock whispered as his turn came about.

"Oh, really? Got a thing for dominate women?" Garrett worked well under pressure. All this joking was going to make him defeat us this round. I was almost sure of it.

"That's not all there is to it, and at least I have it in for some girl," Garrett looked towards me with a raise of an eyebrow.

Peter and Garrett talked about lovers and girlfriends and the women they watched from afar all the time, but I didn't tend to give out that sort of information. Explicitly because there weren't many around for me in the area. Many human women would have gladly thrown themselves into my bed, that I do know of for sure, thanks to my gift. Lust usually followed me wherever I went. But, I think they would change their mind the minute they really started to touch me. The only moments I got to find myself romantically involved were the off chance a nomadic female dropped by the area and on the even more off chance that we met and found each other attractive. I wanted to have sex, I was and would always be a twenty one year old male who had grown up during that summer of love time period. But it just wasn't much in the cards for me. The only person I had the privilege to encounter more than a few times was Tanya, a blond vixen of a vampire that tried desperately to worm her way into my heart. When I first met her, I thought she was a mirage. She was the most beautiful vampire I had ever seen. Long, impossibly long, blond hair and a Russian accent that would have stopped my heart if it were still beating. She was playful and flirty but she never stayed long. She didn't understand my "play life" as she had called it. She dropped in at random, somehow always knowing where to find me from state to state. I never minded. Her short visits were a highlight to my life. Endless hours of love making and light discussion. It made me miss real companionship. She wanted it from me and I wanted it from her, but neither of us were willing to compromise ourselves for each other, so she left each time we met shortly after. It was our game of cat and mouse. I hadn't seen her in months, nor had I taken another lover since. But, I didn't love her and neither did she love me. We were just two lonely souls looking for a break.

"Just because I don't kiss and tell doesn't mean I don't kiss, Garrett," I replied, imagining Tanya's full lips parting in a smile on top of my frame. Perfect recall could be a pain as well as a blessing.

"What the fuck ever, dude. Still don't believe you." Garrett was smiling around his cigarette at me, he was feeling mischievous.

"Yeah, I'm not so sure you take anybody home ever, either. You're always on the go." Peter usually sided with me over Garrett. I was a little taken aback.

"Fine," I huffed, "The next time a lucky lady goes home with me, I'll be very sure to let you two asswipes know about it."

Garrett smiled victoriously, "Don't spare any gory details."

Oh my, how many gory secrets did I have. After a few hours I parted ways with them, leaving them to play by themselves, using the excuse that I had to work early in the morning. In reality, it was time for my next hunt. I had been watching my meal for a few days, learning his habits and daily activities. It was midnight and if he lived up to his routine he would be alone and on his way to his car from his studio. By day, James Renault was a photographer, his main subject was women and men in scanty outfits with a plain white back drop behind them. But at night he took photos of high school and college aged girls bound and gagged and dead in his home.

I took out my contacts as I left the bar, but left my sunglasses on top of my head, feeling safe in the cover of night. I parked my car in front of his studio and sat on the hood. I took out a cigarette and lit it, it wasn't a true habit of mine, as it like the beer, did nothing for me. It served as a reason to be standing alone outside. To make it seem less like I was waiting on the bastard I was going to drink tonight. He didn't keep me waiting, I watched him exit the building slowly, at a leisurely pace, content pouring out of him. I wondered what brought him such joy. I wasted no effort in my human charade any longer, there was no one else around, I was in front of him so fast he had to have thought I materialized out of thin air.

"Hello, James." I smiled down at him, loving the fear that washed on to me. My 6'3'' frame towering above him. Before he could get a word in, I simply pushed my index finger into his forehead, the force of my tiniest movement knocked him out but I caught him before he fell to the ground. I threw him into my backseat and drove off towards my own studio. As I drove, I would look into my mirror to catch glimpses of him, growing more and more eager to get to my second home. I noticed my black eyes in the mirror and smiled even though the burn in my throat was beyond scorching. I had gained so much restraint since I found my new way. I turned on my stereo and sung softly along with The Deftones, "I watched you change." And change I had.

When I arrived at my little office space turned murder haven, I walked out of my car to retrieve my lovely black leather suitcase out of my trunk. It was my pride and joy. It was older than me by a few years, handcrafted and beautiful. I found it an antique store when I first started my atypical hunt. It was something I treasured dearly. Afterwards I grabbed Mr. Renault out of my backseat and threw him over my shoulder. The street was loud a few blocks ahead but there was no one to scrutinize me around. It's why I chose this rundown area. Full of life but yet still so vacant.

I placed him on the steel table in the center of the room and fastened the restraints onto his body. His body was limp and did not protest, yet. I opened my suitcase to reveal the photos I had stolen from his home a few nights before. Sure, I could have killed him then, but where would have been the fun in that? They were the glamour shots of his victims, bloody and beaten and without a pulse. I tacked them onto the wall in clear view for him to see before I walked out of view and waited for him to awake. I gave him twenty minutes to get to his senses, but when he was still knocked cold, I grew impatient. I sent him a wave of adrenaline, forcing his eyes wide open. Confusion, confusion was always what they felt at first. As if they should be confused as to why they had ended up this way. Did they think their misdeeds would actually go unnoticed? He looked over to his side and saw his pieces of work. And there we had it, the fear, the dread, the knowing.

When I couldn't hold myself any longer, I made my way into his line of vision. I loved the lighting in the room, it played well with the bright red of my eyes.

"What the fuck?!" he tried tugging at his restraints, his frustration growing.

"Yes, what the fuck is right, James. What are you even doing here?" I said with mock incredulity, walking closer and closer to his face.

"AGH! You tell me you piece of shit!" He spit on me. The fucker actually spit on me. I couldn't help but laugh.

I wiped his spit off of my cheek, but continued laughing. "Good job, that is the first time that has happened to me in the fifteen years I've been doing this. What a feat. You're here because of them, silly man." I pointed out the photos for him, although I'm sure he didn't need the reassurance.

"Fifteen years, what the fuck, you been torturing people since you were a kid?" Back to confusion, he was almost not even scared anymore. Pity. I was going to have to change that.

"I'm sixty-seven years old," I replied, "My kind don't tend to age." I smiled for him, showing him the glinting whiteness of my teeth. They weren't dog toothed or anything like that, but they were just slightly larger than humans and tended to scare my prey. I was not disappointed.

"Oh fuck, dude. I'm sorry, okay. I can't help it. I have to do it."

"I'm sure you do, unfortunately for you, I really really have to do this. I'm thirsty."

I didn't even bother with his expression or an answer. I could have dragged it out a lot longer, but he really did smell fantastic and I was parched. His blood pooled into my mouth and down my throat. The only way I can describe the feeling of feeding is relating it to drinking an ice cold glass of water when you haven't drank anything in days and having something akin to an orgasm at the same time. I never stopped until there wasn't a single drop left floating in their body.

When I was finished drinking from him, I rested my head on the table beside his and sighed. He more resembled me than he did a human now. There was no heartbeat slushing blood through his body and he had no color to his skin. We were one in the same. Dead all the way around. I was a living corpse kept alive by my venom and the blood so graciously donated by my prey. That was enough self reflection for the moment, so I sat back up and began unfastening his restraints. I walked toward the wall I had tacked his photos up and took them down and placed them in my suitcase. You would think with the amount of bodies I had contorted into it that it would be gruesome and vile on the inside, but bloodless bodies didn't make nearly as much of a mess as you would think.

Whistling while I worked, I snapped his body over and over until it fit just perfectly into my suitcase, his body didn't appear like anything anymore. A rag doll with not a single bone. What a convenient way to hide a body. I could be a genius sometimes.

When I got back in my car, I placed the suitcase in the passenger seat next to me. I pulled out and began tinkering with my stereo trying to find the perfect song. "What kind of music do you like, James?" I asked toward the suitcase. "I think you're a Pixies kind of guy. Yeah, let's hear Where Is My Mind." The fucker probably had awful music taste in his life, but I could give him the one dignity in death of having excellent taste. I couldn't let his memory be completely tainted, could I?

I was driving to his final resting place, it wasn't far, in fact it was on my way home. There was a poorly supervised incinerator that was so easy to sneak into it was pathetic. I didn't even need my vampiric stealth or any other ability. The night watchmen were portly, old men who slept or ate and watched TV their entire shifts. Truthfully, I could never thank them enough for their sloth. It made my job very easy.

I parked fairly far down the road and left it, taking my suitcase to the back entrance. It was left unlocked always. As I opened my suitcase to reveal James Renault's contorted corpse, I thought I smelled something different- something inhuman. It passed as fast as it came, but it left me on edge. I wasted no time dumping his body and leaving the place. As I walked to my car, I smelled it again. Vampire. This time I did not ignore it, I saw a woman's figure by my car. She was darker skinned than me, maybe hispanic or asian. It was hard to tell with the way the milky white took over in anyone's skin when they transformed, regardless of heritage. And her hair was long, chestnut and wavy. I started running toward her, to figure out what this woman was doing following me, but she was out of sight before I could get to my car. That was saying something about her speed.

I was uncomfortable. I hadn't met a new vampire in at least a year, and although most mean no harm, there was something incredibly unsettling about being followed. I could have followed her trail if I felt compelled, but I just wanted to get home. I wanted to change clothes and I had some real work to do the kind I made a living doing. If this vampire wanted to see me again, she wouldn't be hard to miss. Her scent was imbedded in my brain. Chocolate Chai and Hazelnut.

I parked my car and sauntered toward my apartment. It was three in the morning, and apart from one teenage girl stumbling home, there was no one outside but me. Solitude. It was so nice to be able to afford it. I couldn't imagine not having somewhere to come back to, to always be on the run. I loved home, a place where no one could bother me, a place to be truly alone. Chocolate chai wafted through my nose, so maybe not alone. The scent got heavier and heavier as I got nearer my apartment. For the first time in a long time, I was scared. Was she in my home? Why would she be here? When I unlocked my door, I surveyed the room and let out an unnecessary sigh when I realized she was no longer here, but then I caught notice of the photo on my desk.

I picked the picture up, the photo was of an extremely beautiful hispanic woman, with a stunning smile and crimson pools in her eyes staring right into the camera, right through me. It was a picture of her. My stalker. I turned it around and in a most beautiful script, read, "Hello, Jasper."


End file.
